


Patterns

by TerrifiedAristocrat



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Cecil Is a Good Boyfriend, Cecil is Inhuman, Cecil to the rescue while Carlos repeatedly breaks the law and vandalizes his home, M/M, Stream of Consciousness, Unhinged Carlos, blobby terror horrors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-29 02:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerrifiedAristocrat/pseuds/TerrifiedAristocrat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Try putting ten pounds of sugar in a five pound bag. Only instead of ten pounds of sugar it's the universe, and instead of a five pound bag it's Carlos' mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It started at three AM with a pounding inside of Carlos’ skull, although since time was weird in Night Vale perhaps it was three AM or perhaps it was 6 AM. The time didn’t matter. The pounding did.

The pounding was a throb that matched perfectly with Carlos’ racing pulse, it was as if his brain was too big for his skull and his skull was impacting it, bruising it, he was hemorrhaging inside his brain, his brain was dying. But it wasn’t, because Carlos was alive, sweating, panting in his bed with hot damp palms and a hot, dry throat. His bones buzzed and his skin crawled and his eyes hurt and burned but the burn was worse when he closed them so he kept them open, searching across his room for a pen.

He found one. They were illegal, Carlos didn’t care. He scrambled for some sort of notebook paper and tried to write down how he was feeling, as it was encouraged by his…by his… someones, Carlos couldn’t remember by who. He put the pen on the paper. It made a blot. He tried to turn the blot into a word. The blot instead became an angered scribble which then started to form a string of numbers.

The numbers had no sense to them, sometimes they repeated, sometimes they didn’t. Was it a decimal, or a whole number? Was it rational? Was it imaginary? What would it look like graphed? Carlos didn’t know the answer to any of these questions he just wrote. He scribbled, he scrawled his hands cramped and he didn’t even notice. When the pen hiccuped its last bits of ink Carlos threw it angrily against the wall and tore through his apartment, looking for another. He found a whole ten pack of Papermate pens and brought them in. They were the best pens in the world, after all. 

It was eight in the morning and Carlos’ arm was numb and he was running out of room to write but he wasn’t running out of numbers. He just started writing on the wood floor of his bedroom then. Somewhere between synapses the Papermate pens became permanent marker that glided smoothly over the wood, like two long lost lovers meeting again under a dark moon. It was great, Carlos was grinning and the fumes made his head spin.

Someone knocked on his door, Carlos ignored them. He had to keep a steady stream had to keep writing. when he paused to rest his hand his head did the throbbing thing again and Carlos felt something hot and wet dribbling out of his nose and when he sneezed left a mist of red, like flower petals plucked from a very small, bloody clover. Even the mist had numbers, had a pattern, it wasn’t random none of it was none of it ever was no amounts of data are random it’s just there aren’t’ enough points of data to determine a pattern everything was patterned. Even Carlos’ numbers were starting to curve and move, like an ornate pattern scrawled on his bedroom floor. His bed was in the way, but moving it would smudge his numbers and that would be bad he’d have to redo them he didn’t know if he could even redo them for all he knew the numbers just came and went like a steady stream from the heart to the mind to the eyes to the hand to the ink to the floor. Wasn’t’ that a bible verse? Perhaps it was Carlos didn’t even know anymore he didn’t know anything except numbers numbers that danced in his head 1, 5, 1, 123, 123, 12, 16, 16, 156, 154, 99, 95, 6, 6521, 78, 2, 6521, 45965, 854…

It was one in the afternoon and Carlos’s stomach was cramping and aching and letting out all sorts of unhappy noises but none of it mattered all that mattered was the numbers. Carlos was on his walls now, filling up one, moving his desk over the new dried ground so that he could stand on it and write he was like the world’s best (or worst) painter turning everything black with knowledge. He had to stop writing because his pen ran out and someone was in his house, denying him access to the pen. Carlos didn’t remember what happened, but his throat hurt like he was yelling. He knew full well his words didn’t make any sense and he was pretty sure he just started screaming numbers at the person who in the end surrendered the pen and Carlos retreated into the room, his head spinning and his membranes throbbing painfully it was agonizing. Agony. All Agony.

In the end they left Carlos in silence and Carlos liked the silence because in the end nothing was really silent. The universe had noise and was constantly screaming, even if the screaming was nothing more than static, perceived as random by people who didn’t know the pattern, didn’t understand the pattern, didn’t understand that the world was made up not of atoms not of particles not of molecules but of numbers, constant, flowing, numbers. It was quiet and it was deafening and it was beautiful and it was terrible and Carlos was sobbing, he knew it, he could taste tears and mucus and he couldn’t see because the tears misted up his glasses and it pissed him off and he just collapsed to the floor and ached.

And then foot steps came.

Carlos felt them as vibrations through the floor of his home, he couldn’t hear he could just feel. Was this like being deaf? Carlos didn’t know. All he knew was something was coming.

The door creaked open. Something like static buzzed in Carlos’ ears and he didn’t realize it was Cecil until the reporter got down next to Carlos and shook him lightly.

"Carlos. Carlos! Carlos!!" 

"Cecil." Carlos whispered, his voice dry and his throat parched. It was the first human word he’d said all day.

"Carlos, perfect, beautiful Carlos," Cecil crooned softly, running long fingers through Carlos’ damp hair, stroking his cheek and then his side and then his back and then his hair again in a pattern that had no pattern, in movements that had no numbers. It was entirely unscripted and unpredictable and the throbbing in Carlos’ head started to fade. The scientist leaned against Cecil and just buried his face in the other’s shoulder quietly, tears streaming down his face, his glasses pushed up into his hair and his shoulders trembling. 

"Cecil it hurts," he croaked.

"I know Carlos, I know," the way Cecil purred out his name was sweet and soft and had all the right pitches in it, all the right tones. Music was science, science was music, Cecil was music, Cecil was science. 

Carlos stayed there for a while, and Cecil didn’t move very much. They didn’t talk, but Cecil hummed something that sounded vaguely like a lullaby. And Carlos finally lifted his head and slid his glasses back on and realized that his bedroom was nearly filled with numbers. Except when he looked at them from a distance he found they made an ornate pattern, like an ornate circle.

"I’m going to make some tea," he whispered, his throat hurting.

"Sounds neat," Cecil chirped.

"I can’t sleep in this room," Carlos added.

"That’s ok. I have a bed," Cecil chirped again, only to redden immediately after. Carlos smiled and his lips felt dry. They stood. Carlos swayed. Cecil steadied him, stabilized him. Carlos clung to him. Cecil was real, Cecil was ok. Cecil whispered gentle words into Carlos’ ear, words that didn’t need a pattern, words that were good and normal and human.

The hemorrhage stopped.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then there's another one.

This time Carlos woke up an hour before he needed to, his head screaming. Oh it hurt, it wasn’t even in sensible numbers like the last time oh no. It was just a constant screech, a static, a ridiculous scream. His eardrums quivered, his eyes watered and seemed to want to throb right out of his eye sockets. Carlos staggered out of bed and slammed his glasses on, stumbling around his dark room which still smelled like paint from being repainted after the numbers incident. Carlos fell flat on his face and screamed in agony, not at the sharp pain that went through his knee but at the way his head jostled and felt like a swollen grape- too large, too round, tight and straining at the edges. Each heartbeat brought a new wave of agony, and Carlos wanted to just claw his skin off to relieve the pressure.

He made it outside into the cool desert morning before he started scratching his face and the air helped a little. He was still in agony, but Carlos’ vision wasn’t blurring anymore. Things still seemed distorted, alien, bizarre. Carlos kept a hand on the walls of the building he passed, trying not to stagger into the street. He needed something stable, something solid, something whole.

Or someone.

Without even thinking about it, Carlos’ feet took him towards Cecil’s apartment. The part of him that wasn’t in entire agony worried about scaring Cecil but he needed the man, he needed this smooth voice, his soft touches… oh he needed those. Desperately.

As Carlos climbed the stairs to Cecil’s apartment the pain got worse and he almost passed out in a screen of unearthly screeching. It was so much, so loud so… awful. Carlos gasped and sucked in air needily as if he couldn’t breathe. Breathing hurt his head too, he wanted to cut it off from oxygen but that made his lungs hurt more and it was a question of which would hurt more- his lungs from the force of not breathing or his head from the force of living?

Gradually Carlos made it to Cecil’s door and knocked on it softly. He was afraid Cecil wouldn’t hear but it hurt, the sound hurt his knuckles hurt but mostly his head pounded like someone was rapping on the insides of his skull with a two by four.

Again, when Cecil answered the door his voice came in like static and it hurt and for a moment Carlos thought that he’d have to leave, that Cecil’s beautiful voice was hurting him. That thought, that very thought was terrifying and horrifically sad.

"Cecil," Carlos whined out lowly, the sound of his own voice rattling inside his head angrily.

"Oh Carlos," Cecil reached out and took Carlos’ hand in his own, long cool ones and pulled him inside. The sound of Cecil closing the door was awful and Carlos nearly fell to his knees. Cecil lurched to catch him and the next thing Carlos knew he was suspended in the air by… well, something or another. If he could think more clearly he’d question it, but at that moment Carlos let himself get carried, falling limp around whatever sort of appendage had wrapped itself around the scientist’s waist. He was set down on something warm and soft and felt Cecil gently stroking his forehead, brushing hair out of his eyes slowly. The man didn’t speak, but his hands felt heavenly. Carlos groaned softly into the man’s touch, closing his eyes lightly as the pain subsided slowly.

"Carlos," Cecil murmured softly and his voice didn’t hurt. It was cool and calming and amazing. Carlos hummed softly response, letting his head loll to the side and into Cecil’s hand.

"It happened again," Carlos whispered, sitting up slowly. Sitting up was painful, but he powered through it. He was sitting/laying on Cecil’s couch, and leaned back on the couch next to Cecil tiredly.

"That’s unusual," Cecil remarked, a statement, not a question.

"Yes," Carlos whispered lowly. Cecil looked at him oddly, his skin a different shade. Sort of… purple? Carlos swayed forward and leaned on Cecil’s shoulder. He felt the other wrap an arm around him gently and stroke his side.

"Why." Carlos asked softly.

"You’re thinking too much," Cecil replied gently, his words cooling around Carlos’ head like a cat made of ice water sitting around a flaming catnip toy. Where did these analogies even come from, Carlos wondered as his eyelids fluttered and his eyes zoomed in and out of focus. That didn’t hurt, and it as sort of a neat sensation- blurry, then clear. Black smoky tendrils and then-

Wait what?

Carlos tried to focus his eyes again but they were gone and Cecil was chuckling a bit as if Carlos had done something amusing but Carlos’ head still throbbed so he didn’t speak. He liked hearing Cecil’s voice though, it as smooth and cooling and like inhaling a drug or tasting oxygen after swimming for too long- Carlos needed it, Carlos craved it. He nuzzled the crook of Cecil’s neck muzzily, his arms awkwardly finding a home around Cecil’s waist. Cecil didn’t protest or squirm really; he pressed close and all but pulled Carlos into his lap. Carlos would have been alright with that- Cecil’s skin wars warm and Carlos body was cold as if all his body heat had shot up to his head where it was overloading everything.

"My hypothalamus reset itself," Carlos muttered.

"Really?" Cecil asked, sounding interested. "It’s not even a Tuesday." Cecil stroked Carlos’ forehead again. "You’re such a clever man Carlos, resetting your own hypothalamus like that. Genius," he cooed softly, his smile too wide and his eyes too black but Carlos didn’t care because he was Cecil, he was safe.

"Gonna make my head swell," Carlos muttered, feeling his face flush with embarrassment and pleasure all rolled in a sort of lining behind his cloud of agony which slowly was fading. "You have work?"

"Go to sleep Carlos," Cecil murmured softly, planting a kiss on Carlos’ forehead. "When you wake up, I’ll be back,"

Carlos let his eyes slide shut and felt himself be laid back on the couch.

The next thing he knew the air smelled like tea and Cecil’s fingertips were gently brushing across Carlos’ forehead. He opened his eyes slowly and sat up- aside from the fog of sleep, his head didn’t hurt. Cecil put a mug of something hot and steaming in Carlos’ hand and the scientist drank it readily, humming.

"How are you feeling?" Cecil asked, concern in his voice.

"Better." Carlos nodded, sipping again. "Chai. I love chai."

"I know!" Cecil grinned and glowed. Carlos smiled slowly at him, making a mental note to ask about the tendrils.

If he remembered, that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sort of like this maybe turn it into a story? Like with a plot and everything? Ye.  
> Also this one was going to smut but then it sat in my drafts for about a month and when I looked at it I thought 'where the h*ck do I stick the smut in this what what what confused Inu noises'  
> so yeah.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos looks for a common denominator behind his attacks, and makes an attempt to be self-reliant. Cecil is having none of that shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I heard you wanted plot so  
> I give you  
> plot.

It was getting to the point where Carlos was considering taking sleep aides.

Now Carlos always disliked using chemical means to achieve sleep- usually it messed up his sleep cycle worse than the insomnia did. He had even less of a desire to go on such medications in Night Vale because… well, what if some sort of beast broke into his house while he was in a chemically-induced slumber? What if all his zucchini turned into flesh-eating wombats? (of course a thought occurred to him- just spend the night with Cecil, Cecil would keep him safe. But that meant having to walk up to Cecil and as a grown man ask another grown man that he was very fond of if he could sleep with him in order to keep the monsters out of his head and… well, Carlos was proud)

The problem never was falling asleep, or staying asleep. The problem was waking up.

It had become a routine almost that Carlos would sink into his mattress, his consciousness would swim with… something or another, something crawling and many-eyed, something jittery and painful and uncomfortable. But he was asleep and thus trapped in what looked like a very large wineglass, filled up to his knees with a sticky, pearlescent white substance. It had eyes floating in it, gold ones that had slit pupils that watched Carlos struggle to climb out of the wine glass. The substance was… well, sometimes it was thick, almost like a solid, and other times it was thin and wet. It smelled rich and sweet, too sweet almost but in a way that made Carlos’ throat constrict and chest hurt and stomach knot- it was almost like Cecil but not quite. There were aspects that were like Cecil and if Carlos was more confused he’d think it was Cecil and just relax in its tendril-ed, multi-eyed hold but then something would happen, some stimulus that was not Cecil and Carlos would tense and squirm and try to escape.  
Whatever the goo was, it was sentient. It spoke, but its words hurt Carlos’ ears and head. It knew Carlos’ name, and didn’t like it when he tried to climb out of the wine-glass. It touched him, forming tendrils of pearly white…stuff, and would wrap around him gently, like some sort of vaguely warm, vaguely damp hug. Carlos asked it to let him go, politely at first and then more desperately later, but whatever it was laughed and rubbed smaller tendrils along Carlos’ cheeks affectionately- the only reason Carlos knew it was affection was because he could feel the affection pouring into his pores, leaking into his muscles and bone like some sort of flammable liquid soaking into wood.

Sometimes it ended up in his mouth, or wrapped around his face or in his eyes- those were days Carlos woke up with everything crammed into his head, days when his skull split in two and his viscera threatened to dribble out the cracks.

That time… well, that time it pulled him into the goo completely, like someone had pushed him into a pool and it wound up not just in his eyes and mouth but in his nose and in his lungs and in his ears and in… everything, filling every orifice of his with something shuddering and lukewarm and itching like ants all screaming out a name. Carlos couldn’t make out this name to save his life, but he’d know it if he heard it.

Waking up was difficult, but Carlos somehow managed with the taste of that pearlescent white goo in his mouth and on his tongue and his head swelling like an angry hot air balloon.

It was going to be one of those days.

Carlos was better than that though- he was a scientist. Self-reliant. So around the pain and throbbing and absolute sheer terror that his brain was going to loll off of his head in a pile of pulsating gore, Carlos got up. He shaved. He showered. He choked down some coffee even though his stomach churned. He staggered into his lab and ignored the concerned noises Lisa made as she saw the glazed look in his eyes. He resisted the urge to strangle Tom, who asked if he was hung over. The thought of alcohol made his head throb a little more, a throb that didn’t let up even as Carlos removed his glasses and attempted to focus a microscope in order to look at some samples. The cells on his slide kept moving around and Carlos didn’t know if that was a Night Vale thing or just…him, his perceptions being distorted by whatever was causing the problems, the dreams. He wanted to throw the slide against the wall and by the time his brain talked him out of it the slide was crushed in his hand, blood oozing around the sharp glass edges and dribbling onto the floor.

“CARLOS WHAT’S WRONG” Lisa bellowed- while Carlos was aware that she wasn’t yelling that’s what it felt like. He swayed.

“Focus,” he muttered to himself, lurching to his feet and staggering to the sharps container. There were probably pieces of glass in his hand- Carlos didn’t care. He just grabbed a few gauze squares and stuffed them into his injuries, the pain in his hand sort of dulling the pain in his head.  
He sat down to do some more work and the next thing he knew Lisa was on the phone, talking too loudly.

“MR. PALMER, THIS IS LISA JAMESON, I’M A SCIENTIST ON CARL- OH, YOU REMEMBER ME, GREAT. YOU ASKED ME TO CALL YOU WHENEVER CARLOS WAS ACTING ODD-“

“I’m not acting odd,” Carlos hissed as he tried to focus his microscope again, grinning when he managed to bring his sample into focus. “Just have a headache,”

“LAST TIME YOU HAD A HEADACHE YOU COVERED THE WALLS OF YOU-“

“Stop yelling.” Carlos cut Lisa off.

“I’M NOT YELLING,” Lisa told Carlos shortly. “SO WHEN- OK. ALRIGHT. THANK YOU.” Lisa hung up and Carlos rested his aching head on the eyepiece of his microscope, groaning softly. He wished he could just turn the world off-

-nac uoy-

-and make everything silent

-eciov ym htiw secaps ytmpe llif-

“Carlos”

Carlos lifted his head and realized that he’d been digging his fingers into his temples- while he couldn’t see the indentations left on his skin he could feel them and they burned.  
Cecil was there, gasping for breath and standing in the doorway to the lab like he’d ran all the way there. Carlos looked confused and then shook his head, turning to go back to his science. Not this time, no. He wouldn’t’ curl up like a small child in Cecil’s warm, safe arms even though he-“

“Carlos doesn’t seem to be feeling well,” Cecil’s voice sounded wonderful right away this time, for which Carlos was eternally grateful. It was like water pouring over a cracked desert, seeping into the grooves of his brain. “I should get him home.”

“YEAH BEFORE HE BREAKS SOMETHING,” some other scientist who was yelling too loudly for Carlos to determine his voice remarked. And the next thing he knew he was being coaxed out of his chair with gentle touches and whispered words, steered out of the lab and down the hall and outside where the bright bright sun bore down on him and threatened to burn Carlos’ retinas out. Carlos swayed, and

Cecil nudged him into a car.

“You…. Ran…?” Carlos mumbled.

“I went into the wrong building,” Cecil admitted quietly, rubbing the back of his head and sounding rather bashful. Carlos would have smiled but it hurt too much. “I couldn’t hear your frequency,”

“My…what?” Carlos frowned, squinting.

“Ah, never mind. Just relax. I’ll get you home.” Cecil ran a hand across Carlos’ forehead and oh god that felt absolutely wonderful…

Frequency. Like the dials on a radio, like the ways in which molecules oscillate in a pattern at a rate making a hum, a buzz, everything moves, nothing is still, everything has a frequency. Was Cecil like a walking radio, a human capable of tapping in to any sort of frequency-

Who was Carlos kidding.

Cecil wasn’t human.

Carlos leaned on Cecil and shuddered, pressing as close as he could to the other man while they drove, to one of their homes, somewhere. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe. Somewhere… alone.

But

Were they ever really alone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason I always write more if I'm writing in a word document as opposed to pulling up a Tumblr post and typing in it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos' secret admirer makes his move. Neither Carlos nor Cecil nor the faceless old woman who lives in Cecil's house approve.

It was embarrassing, to be honest. Scientists were supposed to be self-reliant, but there Carlos was, curled up in a ball of agony on his boyfriend’s couch. It frustrated Carlos and he wanted to say so but everything still hurt, he felt like his bones were going to split at the seams and ooze scientist all over Cecil’s furry couch.

**_-elims-_ **

“Carlos, Carlos you need to relax,” Cecil whispered softly into Carlos’ ear, stroking his hair, touching his temples. His fingers felt amazing and Carlos nuzzled them without planning to- it just happened. Everything just… happened.

“I can’t,” Carlos mumbled.

“Yes you can,” Cecil assured him, rubbing gentle circles on Carlos’ cheekbones. That was relaxing, Carlos liked it. “My perfect Carlos, you need to take care of yourself,”

“I do,” Carlos complained.

“You tried to do science with… with the void oozing out of your head- that’s not healthy Carlos!” Cecil Chided. Carlos grumbled and leaned on Cecil.

“I’m as scientist-“

“You’re a human. You need rest,” Cecil cut Carlos off, slowly raking his fingers across Carlos’ scalp.

“You need to go soon.” Carlos mumbled, cold fear pouring into his stomach for some irrational reason. He… he didn’t want Cecil to go. “You always put me to sleep and-“

“Shh, it’s alright,” Cecil cooed, pressing a kiss on Carlos’ forehead. I’ll make you some tea, it will help,”

“You’re going to drug me?” Carlo s asked suspiciously, not wanting Cecil to get up, to leave.

“Just a little,” Cecil assured him, standing and making Carlos feel cold and awful. Perhaps it was for the best though, since once Cecil left the pain came and woke Carlos up. Cecil’s apartment was bright and distracting, which added to his headache.

Cecil came back with a steaming mug- he handed it to Carlos and helped him hold it. Carlos’ hands shook and his nostrils burned at the scent of the tea. It tasted ok though, herbal and sweet. Cecil stayed with Carlos while he drank, investigating Carlos’ neck hairs with his fingertips in a way that somehow lessened the pressure in Carlos’ head, eased the ants crawling on the inside of his skin.

Carlos finished his mug and set it aside- there was a coffee table with a crocheted cover the color of radioactive key lime pie nearby. These details came to him even as his eyelids grew heavy and his mind clouded. The pain was gone though, and Carlos let Cecil lay him down without protest. How could he protest anyways? Even if he was at his best, Carlos had a feeling he would still be weak against  Cecil, Cecil of the smooth voice and violet eyes and unusually strong hands that looked thin but carried Carlos around like he was a child, Cecil of the strange teas and wonderful smelling house and funny tendency to hiccup over his words…

Carlos didn’t even hear Cecil leave- whatever was in that tea was sure potent.  But even with the sleep aide, Carlos dreamed.

He wasn’t in a wine glass anymore but a bright, white room with something pouring out of the speakers, it was sound, but it was also that pearlescent white substance with the eyes, all fixed on him, all looking at him and through him like lasers or angels.

_**-teews os teews er’uoy-** _

It oozed and flowed and formed a humanoid shape- Carlos didn’t know if that was relieving or terrifying. Carlos pressed himself against a wall, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. The thing kept advancing, and Carlos kept shaking his head, panicked Spanish tumbling from his lips- ‘por favor no me toque no no no’

[ _Shh smile friend Carlos smile_ ] the thing touched his cheek, words soaking into his skin, making his brain swell.

“I just got over this no” Carlos practically sobbed, feeling tears well up in his eyes, which barely could focus on the constantly shifting thing standing before him, each eye like a miniature sun burning Carlos’ retinas.

[ _friend Carlos friend Carlos smile smile for me_ ]

“I’m-“

[ _SMILE_ ] The thing lunged at Carlos’ face, sealing a bit of itself over his mouth in what he (gradually) assumed was a kiss of some form- he felt sharp teeth grazing across his lips and something saccharine pouring into his mouth- something that felt like a thumb pressed against his throat and burned, burned like hell and made each nerve running from his neck down erupt in agony. Carlos screamed and couldn’t hear it- he knew he was screaming because his throat hurt and his lungs quivered, trying to suck in air through his nostrils to feed his panicking brain at least some oxygen and scream all at once. Something cold was being pressed into his hands- it wasn’t the blob monster but something real, something corporeal. They felt like beads, round and smooth and strung on a string that could easily be passed from one finger to the next. The creature pulled away, although Carlos still tasted it (him) on his lips and tongue, which made him almost want to swallow and rid himself of the taste but at the same time scared to do so, scared that would introduce it into his body and oh God he didn’t want it in his body, he didn’t want it anywhere near him but

[See you later friend] it remarked cheerily, draining out of the room through the vents like toxic waste, leaving Carlos on his knees in a blinding white room, clutching invisible prayer beads that maybe existed and maybe didn’t, his head spinning and mouth aching and chest throbbing and tears dripping down his face like some five year old who felt a monster clutch at his feet poking over the edge of his bed. He didn’t want to see the thing later, he wanted to be home, he wanted to be with Cecil, he wanted to be safe.

Carlos woke up with a dazed start, his neck burning through the lull Cecil’s tea put him into. There was a rosary clutched in his hands, something unusual looking made up mostly of off-white beads that had unusual symbols painted on them. There was no cross in this rosary either, the middle piece was an eye  and at the end of the rosary was a metal piece that looked more like something off of a dowsing chain than anything else. There was a note stuck to his arm too, written in spindly handwriting:

_Carlos- you need this more than I. Tell Cecil I gave it to you. Also take care not to bleed on the afghan, it’s his favorite._

Carlos stared at the paper, then stared at the woolly afghan that was draped on him, then reached up to his neck and realized he was bleeding.

“Shit,” Carlos swore, slowly staggering to his feet. His head spun and he nearly tripped over the coffee table before making it out of the living room at a slow, lurching rate. The pain in his neck kept him moving, and he had enough strength to stagger into the bathroom and yank down the black cloth that covered the bathroom mirror.

His lips were swollen and bloody, and it looked like someone had made two small cuts into the corners of his mouth, looking like the beginnings of a grisly smile-

(smile it had said it told him to smile)

\- his neck had long scratch marks on it, and a bloody burnt spot on the right side of his neck throbbed painfully. Carlos shakily grabbed some tissue paper, wet it and started dabbing at the wound, hissing and wincing at the pain it caused. Once the excess blood had been cleared away, Carlos saw that he had apparently been branded. The wound was definitely burned into his skin, in the shape of a triangle with an S on it. Carlos frowned, and started digging through Cecil’s medicine cabinet for a first aid kit. He found one, but it was covered in a sort of green, caked on substance that he had to go get a knife from the kitchen to open it. It still had some antibiotic cream and bandages in it, which Carlos used to patch up his injuries. As dazed as he was, Carlos remembered to cover up the mirror again and clean up the bathroom, stumbling back into the living room and collapsing on the couch. He didn’t want to think about the mark on his neck, even as it burned.

Instead Carlos stared at the ceiling, hoping that he’d fall asleep. The apartment smelled nice, like Cecil, which was distracting and comforting all at once. Carlos found the afghan Cecil liked and pulled it over himself- it was very warm, and Carlos swore it was hugging him. His eyes roamed around Cecil’s brightly colored and fascinating apartment but settled on the ceiling. The ceilings cracks looked like a map of Carlos’ hometown. Carlos could see the park where he played as a child, his primary school, then middle school, then high school. His house looked like it was circled, making Carlos wonder how much of their meeting was accidental. Not even in a religious way (Carlos still had the rosary in his hand and idly played with its beads)but in the way that numbers lined up, the way that the universe moved- somehow Cecil caught Carlos up in his gravitational field and pulled him in closer and closer and closer and closer…

This time Carlos dozed, not suddenly but not gradually either. It was as if Cecil was calling for him and Carlos finally answered his summons- he was in a soft black room, velvet and round with something fluid and violet wrapped securely around him. It smelled like cinnamon and cloves and vanilla and musk, like mineral water from a mountain far away that didn’t exist.

“Cecil,” he whispered, letting himself sink.

[ _Carlos_ ] Cecil murmured back, pressing himself around Carlos like water, not invasive, just gentle, supporting. Warm. Cecil sound tense, but Carlos couldn’t figure out why- everything seemed fine to him. He was safe. The room was safe. Cecil was safe, no fake smiles or bright lights or pills, just safe darkness.

[ _Carlos something’s wrong_ ]

“Carlos, something is wrong.”

Carlos eyes opened suddenly, quickly. His head felt clear but Cecil was sitting on the arm rest above Carlos’ head, looming over him with an indescribable look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” Carlos asked sleepily, trying to sit up. Cecil put a hand on Carlos’ chest and shook his head.

“Someone marked you.” He explained, his voice grave and serious not in a funny way but in a way that made Carlos’ stomach clench.

“Who?” Carlos asked, reaching up to touch the branding on his neck which was now without its bandage somehow.

“I don’t know,” Cecil shook his head. He suddenly smiled something slow an sinister and terrifying, with teeth and deadly promises. “But I intend on finding out.”

Carlos didn’t say anything but swallowed harshly, hoping what he felt in his stomach was fear and not anticipation (or arousal, what the hell?)

“Cecil.” Carlos said quietly, sitting up slowly. “Calm down-“

“No. Something is harassing you, I will not stand for it,” the words came out of Cecil’s mouth sharp and poignant, in a low rich growl that still did funny things to Carlos’ nerves and made him squirm in his seat mildly. Luckily Cecil was too busy pacing suddenly, running his hands through his hair and in general looking just a tad too pissed off.  His shirt rippled, and two long tentacles made of black smoke ripped out, whipping around Cecil like the tail of an agitated cat. Carlos closed his mouth- he was going to say something, but watching Cecil was just too fascinating. Cecil froze, stared at Carlos and then up at a tentacle. His whole body slumped shortly after.

“Oh by the lights I did it again,” he moaned, covering his face.  Carlos stood, a little shakily at first, and then walked over to Cecil. A tentacle snapped in front of him and Carlos paused, trying to get a better look at it.

“Are… you alright?” he asked Cecil carefully, not wanting to upset his boyfriend further.

“I…I get like this. When I’m angry,” Cecil muttered. “It’s embarrassing, usually they don’t come out like this…”

“Are they made of smoke?” Carlos wondered. Cecil peeked at Carlos from between his fingers.

“Are you doing science on me?” he asked suspiciously. Carlos glanced at him and gave him a bit of a sheepish smile.

“Maybe,” he replied. “I am a scientist,”

“Carlos, I-“

“I’m not scared of you,” Carlos added, putting a hand on Cecil’s shoulder.  “Whatever did this,” Carlos pointed to the mess on his neck, “hell yeah, I’m terrified of it and I’ll be the first to admit that. But you, no. I trust you.”

“You should let me take care of you then,” Cecil remarked stubbornly, wrapping his arms around Carlos’ waist and hugging him tight.  Carlos did his best not to think about the raunchy direction those words could turn and instead rubbed his nose against Cecil’s.

“I’ll work on that,” Carlos promised.

“I’ll work on finding who hurt you,” Cecil replied. Carlos nodded seriously, chewing on his lip.

“In the dreams… it looked like you. But, different. I mean, in the blobby form,” Carlos shifted, not sure how to tactfully put it. Cecil arched a brow, and Carlos chewed his lip. “Sorry. He was… pearlescent. Multiple yellow eyes. “

“Hm.” Cecil remarked thoughtfully. “I don’t know of any relatives who manifest white… “

“Not related to you then,” Carlos prompted.

“No… not at all…” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was originally going to be a cousin  
> but then.  
> well.  
> things happened.


End file.
